


The immutable light

by theseatheseatheopensea



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: 17th Century, Alchemy, Alternate History, Gen, Magic, Post-Canon, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sentient Nature, the king's letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:15:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21918919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseatheseatheopensea/pseuds/theseatheseatheopensea
Summary: Now, in this new world, they will touch true magic again. And they will walk together. They will keep the secret.Magic comes back, and even Argentine magicians can feel it.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	The immutable light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chauntlucet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chauntlucet/gifts).



> Hi chauntlucet! (I love your username, by the way) "Isaac Newton: Argentine Magician" is pretty much the best prompt ever, and Vinculus, Childermass and Segundus are my favourite characters in JS&MN, so I just had to include them. And somehow, this little story happened ;) I hope you like it! Happy holidays!

_And when you find me_  
_And when you find me all alone_  
_Your world has never been my own_

\- The Stranglers: [The raven](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MMQeQzRPiAE).

*

The water is cold, black, and wild. But it belongs to them.

And they are here.

In the sunset, the letters look like black birds. They fly away, and they stand by the water, as if it could give them the answers they seek. As if it could teach them to read.

And perhaps it can.

They follow the alchemy. They meet by the sea-shore. They find him by the water, by his sea of steel. They find him, they find him all alone. They find the alchemist of seashells and small rocks. Mr Segundus has said that his name is Newton, but people call him the last of the magicians. He doesn't know about it, but he probably wouldn't mind. He recites brittle riddles and theorems to his dog, and he says that the trees are alive. His fingers are ink-stained, and he has long, silver hair, combed only by the wind, and Vinculus likes him already. He doesn't look like he belongs in this world. And God knows that the three of them certainly don't.

He asks the moon to sing. He hides birds under his coat. He breathes thunder and rainstorms. Alone. All alone. He doesn't sleep enough, but he dreams of mercury and white ashes. He dreams of silence. He dreams of nothing. And he's lost so much in the fire. He nearly lost himself. He spends most of his time by himself, but he might spare them a moment or two. He won't lie, he would like to spend some time with the magic. And that's a start.

At first, he apologises. He can't do magic. He can't turn lead into gold. He would dearly like to, but he can't. But he is ready. He is here, with them. Perhaps this time, he will see the ocean. He will write the science and the spells and the stars. He will see the colours behind the light. He will talk to the angels. They will bring him the book, and he will see the truth. He will read. He will try to change the words.

He looks at Childermass's notes. He looks at the words on Vinculus's skin, bright but elusive, like night writing. In the fading light, the letters are birds with broken wings, feathers falling into the wind, one by one. One by one, he traces them, and they burn. They burn, but they heal. And he lets the fire touch his fingertips, like beatitude. And he feels it, this odd strength in them, this truth. And he lets it in. And he hears his name in the wind, almost holy, like a prayer, like an old, beloved dream. And all the pieces fit together, like home. Together, in the world, between the feathers and the spells.

The sun is almost wild, and the world is alive. And the sand might never turn into gold, but the world will eventually change on its own. It's not quite magic, but almost, and that's good enough for him. And he will speak the words. He will dig out the birds in his heart. And it will hurt, but they will be seen. And they will shine, in the immutable light.

Now, in this new world, they will touch true magic again. And they will walk together. They will keep the secret.

He goes back to the lonely rooms in his heart, but they don't say goodbye. They stand by the sea. They wade into the water. They find the answer there. And the night falls, and the moon sings, and the stars make a thread within. The stars shape the words, and they will read them, and they will know. They will come face to face with it, here, by the water. They will call it by its true name. They will call it black bird. They will call it wild and beautiful and free. They will call it magic. They will greet it, like an old friend, as it comes home by the light of the moon.


End file.
